Mission Medic
by Stucky's-Best-Girl
Summary: She was hand picked by Nick Fury himself to accompany Steve Rogers or to her; Captain Rogers, on all of his missions as a Medic. His mission: save the day. Hers: make sure he lives to do it again. The Captain's life is in danger, they're both stuck in an abandoned cabin in the woods during a blizzard, with no way of contacting for help, truths are shared and secrets revealed.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm back! I've been pondering over posting this for a while now, I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out, it's a long one but I'll continue based on the response I get.**

 **Warnings: Slow Burn, angst, swearing, injuries and medical procedures are mentioned but not too graphic, I warned you.**

* * *

"Fucking disaster. Absolute fucking disaster. Shit shit shit." A British accent rang out into the dead silent forest.

Her footsteps dragged through the snow in time to her muttered cursing. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, each breath frosted white in the cold air. She continued to curse as she cut a path through the snow.

She paused for a moment and looked up, eyes squinting against the bright winter sunlight, low in the sky now as the afternoon drew in. A sigh of relief. The half hidden roof of a cabin, just now fading into the shadow of the surrounding forest. She'd seen it on the map, what felt like days ago, but had no real trust it would still be here. But it had been something for her to aim for. Something for them to aim for.

She hitched the arm around her shoulder a little higher, her grip around the man's waist beside her tightening. She turned back slightly to see the trail of blood drops behind them, contrasting brightly against the pure, white snow. More than she'd hoped. They'd been walking a long time now and yet the blood was coming as fast as before. No time to waste. She moved forward again, muttering once more. The man beside her walked in time with her, barely aware that his feet were moving as he concentrated on staying awake, despite the sharp pain running through him, tempting his brain to shut down. If he fell, she wouldn't be able to lift him, so he had to keep walking.

They reached the cabin a short while later and she propped him against the porch while she looked, fruitlessly, for a key. Teeth gritted with frustration at yet another thing gone wrong and she lifted a leg, kicking the door repeatedly until the wood, long since untended, splintered and they could enter. The man was too far gone now to notice the way she gasped in pain as she had to lift her leg, and how it took her a moment, holding onto the door frame, before she was able to support him again and help him inside.

Out of the snow and light, she walked him over to a sagging couch and lowered him onto it as gently as she could, his weight causing her to half topple forward as he sat, disrupting the layer of dust that had settled there after ages of being unused. She looked around and saw a towel hanging on a rack by the cold fireplace. The towel was crisp with age and cold but she shook it out before folding it into a pad and pressing it against the man's leg, moving his hand on top of it.

"Can you press this down?" She peered into the man's face. He hadn't moved since she'd dropped him on the couch, lying in an uncomfortable position propped on an elbow, too exhausted to move. He nodded sharply, and she saw his fingers blanch as he put pressure on the wound. She took a breath, bone-weary herself but knowing that she had to go on.

"I need to get up, get our bearings, work out a plan…" Despite his wound, he still sounded commanding, he was used to being in charge. He started to move, attempting to sit up with little success.

"You need to sit down, Captain." Her voice was dripping sarcasm as she spoke his title. "I'm the mission medic and I'm telling you to let me do my job before you bleed out." She put a hand to his shoulder, pushing only lightly as he gave in.

Back outside she looked around before spotting a logpile, luckily left well stocked. The cabin was here as an emergency shelter, designed to be left ready for the next person by anyone who used it, and it seemed that the last occupant had taken this to heart. The wood was stacked well, dry and resin-scented, and she filled a nearby box with as much as she could normally carry. As she lifted it, her knees gave way and she sank down into the snow, hand pressed to her own side now. A grimace of pure agony shot across her face as she pushed herself up again, hand to knee, slowly. Time for weakness wasn't yet. She took half the wood out of the box and tried again, slowly lifting the box but favouring one side as she trudged back to the cabin.

The man had his eyes closed now, but she could see that he was still conscious enough to press on the wound. She didn't want to disturb it yet, so she set to laying a fire in the fireplace, hoping the chimney was clear. There was kindling nearby, matches in a metal tin on the mantelpiece, so it wasn't long until she was feeding wood into the flames, watching as the fire licked up the logs and she could start to feel the warmth spreading. She tried one of the doors leading off the room and found only stairs; at another she found a small kitchen. Opening random cupboards until she found a pan, she headed back outside to fill it with snow and set it on the fire to warm.

Her movements were slower now, and the desire to lay down and rest was unbearable, but the protocols that had been drilled into her for years upon years now were powerful, they kept her going when it was hard to make conscious decisions.

The cabin was small, and well insulated, so the warmth from the generous fire was spreading quickly despite the building being long empty. She stood again, holding onto the mantelpiece for support and eyed the man, and herself. Both were wearing winter uniforms, strong boots and good coats, but the damp had soaked through nonetheless. She dropped to her knees and started unlacing the man's boots, pulling off damp leather and socks. Somehow his bare feet, pinched white with cold, made him look vulnerable and she gave a small smile as she sat and pulled off her own boots.

She dragged a dusty blanket off the back of the couch, causing the man to stir, and then wrapped it around him. His eyes opened and he took in the fire, the pan of melting snow, wriggling his toes as they warmed.

"I'm going to have to get that bullet out now. It's going to hurt like a bitch." There was no point in beating around the bush, this was familiar territory for them both now, although this wound was deeper than they'd dealt with for a while, and they were usually in better conditions than this. He nodded.

She got herself ready, both exhaustion and a reluctance to act slowing her movements. Her uniform was stocked with the basics for first aid, along with a few extra additions she'd made, experience on missions teaching her what was useful and what was not.

The cabin was warm now, the dried logs burning fast and hot. She put a few more on the fire, glad to see the cold air outside was drawing the smoke up the chimney well. Anyone looking would see the smoke, yes, but without the fire they'd be dead long before any enemies could find them, so it was the only choice right now.

The water was boiling at last so she quickly unpacked needle, thread, all the equipment she could, and put it in the pan. It was a small gesture to sterilisation but it was all she could improvise. Bringing in another pan from the kitchen, after a few moments she wrapped her coat around her hands and hoisted the full pan off the fire, breath hissing at the weight, heat from the metal handle seeping through and burning her cold hands. She emptied the water from one pan to the other, leaving the equipment in the now empty pan to cool slightly as she assessed the man again. He was watching her, a frown etched into his otherwise caring features.

"You're hurt. You winced."

"I'm fine. Lie down." He frowned and stayed still. "I told you. Mission Medic. Right now, if you want to live, you do as I say. Lie. Down."

He laid back on the couch and she pushed a pillow under his head for comfort, and pulled the blanket away from his legs, wrapping it over his chest and arms for warmth. She pulled out a knife from a pocket on her uniform leg and, gently moving his hand holding the towel, started cutting the man's trousers. With a large hole cut, the extent of the wound was revealed. The wounds, plural. The man was covered in bruises and cuts, but this was nothing new. The wound in his thigh though, was worse than usual, and his reaction to it worried her.

"I wouldn't normally take the bullet out, but you're going to get an infection if I leave it in there so I'm going to have to try. Just hope it's not the only thing plugging up the veins…" She muttered, more to herself than to him. He was used to that by now, it was how she worked.

She tested the temperature of the water, cooler now, and then without warning, poured some over the wound.

"SHIT!" The man jerked to a sitting position as the water hit his injury.

"Sorry. I need to see what I'm doing, there was too much blood." She was worried, this was not a hygienic set up but it was all she had. She picked up some forceps, still hot against her cold hand, then put them down again. Searching through the wood pile she found a smooth piece of wood and gave it to him. He eyed her curiously.

"Like I said, this is going to hurt like a bitch. You might want to bite on that."

"I'm fine. It's OK." She sighed.

"I forgot, never show weakness, be a man… fine. Martyr yourself, just don't scream in my ear, ok?"

She picked up the forceps again, met his eye, and then started work.

It was neither a clean nor a pleasant process. The bullet had missed the main artery but there was damage and the flesh seemed to be reacting to the bullet in unusual ways. It had all happened a mere minutes ago, but for them, it felt a lot longer. The man stayed silent throughout, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut. As she felt the forceps close around the bullet, she heard a sharp crack as the length of wood the man was holding snapped under his tightening grip. Bullet out, she dropped it onto the floor and took a sharp breath. The man's face was covered in a sheen of sweat, veins bulging in his forehead.

"It's out." The man's mouth opened and he let out a gasp followed by a string of swearwords, and she smiled. "Still have to stitch it up though." Despite the situation, her mouth quirked with amusement as the swearing intensified.

Rewashing the wound, unhappy with how she was having to clean it, she began stitching. She'd done this so often to this man in particular now, and she was known for her gentle hands. Pulling the last stitch and cutting off the thread with her knife she sat back on her heels and eyed her work. The bleeding had stopped, that was a start. Throwing the tools back in the pan, she patted her pockets until she found what she was looking for.

"Drink this. Just one mouthful." she said raising a small bottle filled with a clear liquid to his mouth and cupping the back of his head to help him.

"I can't get drunk, you know that." The man had sat himself up again now, swinging his leg carefully to rest on a stool, and spoke idly as he assessed her work, relieved now that the worst was over.

"It's not alcohol, you idiot." He looked up at the bottle she was holding. "Mix of antibiotics, painkillers, and a sedative. Designed for super-soldiers. This is all I have, rest's back at the jet. So just one mouthful for now."

He swallowed a mouthful obediently then laid his head back against the couch, allowing her to use tweezers and pull out the splinters that the wood left in his hand.

"Something off about that bullet. Shouldn't have affected me like that." She nodded agreement, picking the bullet up and eyeing it.

"I'm no expert, we'll take it back to Stark." Their eyes met as she spoke, both wondering if they'd ever actually get back to Stark, or anyone else. No comms, no trail, the chip embedded in the back of her neck most likely wasn't picking up a signal, either no-one would find them, or the wrong people would.

She saw the man's eyes start drifting shut, and pulled the blanket up to cover him further. Trusting that he was finally asleep, she let her head hang forward and her eyes shut for a moment, letting out a deep breath that she felt she'd been holding forever.

"Sleep well, Steve." She spoke quietly, to herself. Now, it was time to deal with her own wounds.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is part 2! Enjoy and leave a review?**

* * *

She added more wood to the fire, and as the wood caught and the flames grew, she realised that it was growing dark. She tried the light switch with little hope but nothing happened. Presumably there was a generator that needed starting somewhere, but it was too cold and dark to do anything about it now. The cabin seemed well stocked though, so she resigned herself to a search for some other form of light.

She headed for the kitchen, and searched through cupboards, finding a stock of candles laid in. Heading back to the main room, she heard the wind picking up, howling past the windows and over the chimney. She pulled curtains over the windows, glad to shut out the sight of the dark outside. It was unlikely anyone – from either side – would be out searching for them in this weather, so it was up to her to keep them going. She had noticed cans of food in the cupboards and hoped they'd be edible still. She could lay traps and set out snares but in this cold there wouldn't be much moving in the woods. She stood at the last window before she drew the curtains and watched the dark settle over the forest outside. Other than the wind, there were no signs of life.

The sun went down beyond the treeline and with the full dark outside, she could see her own reflection in the window, a ghost staring back at her. She stepped away, shutting the curtain quickly against the sight. She had to take care of her own injury now, not waste time. Lighting plenty of candles so she could see clearly, she started to pull off her uniform top, but lifting her arms was too painful, the movement tugging on her wound. She reached for her knife again, and started slicing up the side seam, awkwardly slashing through the cloth by feel alone, hoping that she was also cutting the tank top she wore underneath. She bit her lip in pain, the dried blood pulling at her skin as she worked.

Her uniform was black, advantageous when hiding in the shadows, but also good at hiding blood. The Captain hadn't been able to see the extent of her blood loss against the black fabric, thankfully. She finished slicing the side open and squirmed out, moving her arm as little as possible. She was now just in her underwear and she shivered as the cold air hit her, goosebumps littering her skin. Looking down, she could see a long ragged cut

down her side, slicing over ribs and down into her flesh. The top was shallow and had already stopped bleeding but the lower end was still oozing dark blood slowly, crimson tainting her brown skin, the cut kept open by all her movements.

She put the pan and instruments back to boil and tried to assess how best to repair herself. It was hard to see what she was doing, her arm in the way. She looked around, hoping for a mirror, but there was nothing of use, so she decided to try upstairs. Opening the door to the stairs and leaving the one heated room, she felt the full impact of the cold weather. Without this cabin, they would both be dead by now.

The stairs led straight into a bedroom, empty but functional. No mirror, but she collected more blankets from the bed, and towels from the closet, and took them back downstairs to warm and air. She'd just have to do the best she could.

Back downstairs she emptied the hot water again, placing another blanket over The Captain as she waited for the tools to cool. She folded a towel and soaked it in the water, holding it to her side to loosen the dried blood and clean the wound. The heat and loss of blood combined with her exhaustion left her woozy and she had to rest for a moment, terrified of losing consciousness.

She got her needle ready then paused, summoning the courage to begin. It was hard to get a good angle or a good grip on her skin while peering down, when her hands trembled with exhaustion and pain. It was only the knowledge that there were no other options that made her brave enough. It was going to be a botched job though, but her skin was already scarred enough that one more barely mattered.

Her teeth were clenched tightly, her face a grimace of pain, as she pulled the needle through her own skin. There was none of the elegance she'd used on the man, despite the fact he'd heal smooth anyway. This was functional, hold the wound together to stop the bleeding, no concern for the look. She paused for a second, wiping the cold sweat off her forehead, over half way along the scar now, swallowing the nausea she felt, she continued.

"You were hurt." The voice from the gloom made her jump.

"Don't startle someone sticking a fucking needle in their skin, Captain!" Her anger was quickened by fear, at her injury being discovered, and at being half-undressed and vulnerable. She couldn't do anything, needing to finish the stitching, and couldn't move out of the bright circle of candlelight. The man's voice sounded groggy and she hoped he wouldn't look too closely.

"You have a lot of scars." No such luck there then.

"I KNOW." Her voice echoed around the small room in the dark. She pulled herself together. "I know," she repeated, more quietly. He could hear the sorrow in her voice.

"When did you get them?"

She kept her eyes on the stitching, the pain a welcome distraction from the conversation; the talk a distraction from the pain. Sentences were punctuated by pauses to slip the needle in and out, it was too much to talk through.

"Well, there's one from Budapest, a couple from Romania, you get the idea." There was silence from the couch for a minute. She finished the last stitch and sagged with relief, then blew out some of the candles, unsure how long they'd be stuck without light and wanting to make them last, but also glad of the cover of darkness. Her top needed mending before it could be worn again so she dragged one of the blankets from the bedroom over and wrapped it around herself. The fire was dying down again but she was too exhausted to do anything about it now.

"I never knew. You got all those on missions with me? Protecting me? And I never knew." She laughed, lightheaded with tiredness and pain.

"You don't need protecting! Come on Captain, you protect me. I'm just tagging along to patch you up after. Just doing my job." She paused. "And you're not supposed to know, that's the point. And you wouldn't know this time if we weren't stuck in this damn cabin. You'd be being treated and so would I." She looked up now, seeing the candlelight reflecting in his eyes, staring straight at her. "I'm sorry that's not how this has wound up, Captain."

"Call me Steve. I've told you before. We've worked together for two years now. Call me Steve."

"You're my commanding officer, Captain, I can't do that."

"You don't treat me like your CO when you boss me around, y'know". That brought a half-smile to her face, but it didn't stay long.

"I'm allowed to be a bitch when it comes to your health and safety,"

"As your CO then, why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

She looked up at him in the flickering light. She knew she should move, find them food and drink after all they'd been through, stoke the fire, check his wound, but she felt distanced from reality now that they were warm and safe at last.

"You're the priority, Captain Rogers. Fury made that very clear to me when he first paired us up." She'd often wondered how much he knew about what Fury had said. Perhaps nothing, it seemed. "You're my mission. Your mission is to defeat the bad guys; uphold truth, justice, the all American way, all that. Mine is to keep you alive, at any and all costs. Which is why I'm fucking furious you got hurt. On my watch. And that now we're stuck here." Her head dropped, too tired to hold it upright now. She was still sitting on the floor where she'd stitched herself. Her body ached and she longed to move to the couch, somewhere soft and comfortable, but it felt too intimate to sit next to him.

"Any and all costs? What the hell does that mean?" She sighed. He obviously knew nothing. She gave in to the need for comfort, gathering the blanket around herself and shuffling to the couch. Rogers moved up, giving her space, but her distraction didn't work. As she settled down with a sigh of relief, he spoke again, his voice angry.

"Well?" A deep breath. She was close enough to see his face in the dim light now. He'd never been good at keeping a straight face, his deep-rooted honesty and goodness making every emotion too visible.

"Fury picked me because I had the right… attitude for the job. The other medics would have failed because they cared about their own lives. They had families, friends, a reason to go on. My sole reason for carrying on is my mission. I have nothing else to live for. So I keep you alive, or I die trying. AND I die trying if I have to."

His brow puckered with confusion.

"You have a deathwish?" She laughed, humorlessly.

"No! I don't want to die. I just don't care if I do. Not in the least. And there's no one else who would care either. So Fury knows I'll throw myself into the fray, I'll do whatever it takes, I'll give you the last drop of my own blood if I have to."

"You're a medic, you're not supposed to fight…" He looked frustrated at how little sense this made to him.

"I'm a medic yes. But I've also been trained for years on how to fight. That's why I'm partnered with you. I can fight alongside you like any of your team members, then put you back together and get you out." She laughed again. "I mean, let's be honest, it's not like you need my help, fighting or medically, supersoldier and all, but Fury isn't taking any risks."

"Nobody cares that little about life."

"Hate to break it to you Captain, but I do. So long as Fury says so, you're my mission, down to the last breath." She was utterly drained now, slipping into an irresistible sleep as her body finally relaxed on the couch.

"S'why I call you Captain, can't let myself want more than m'mission…" she mumbled, her accent becoming thicker with drowsiness.

She was asleep, deeply, after the exertions of the day, and so she didn't see the way he looked at her as he pulled the blankets around them both. The pain on his face wasn't due to his wound alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: There is a mention of a rabbit being killed for food in this chapter, it's not graphic but I thought I should just put it out there in case anyone is sensitive to that type of thing.**

* * *

She woke up, stiff and cold, to a dark room. The fire had burnt down and the candles were guttering now. The Captain was asleep beside her on the couch and she was conscious of how their bodies had moved towards one another, seeking warmth. Their arms and legs were touching, faces turned to one another, his hand resting on her hip, one leg between hers, she pulled back slowly, afraid that he would wake while she was still so close. Easing out of the blankets and tucking them around him, she became aware of what had woken her; the sound of the wind was increasing, the weather outside worsening. Feeling his forehead gently, her hand met heat and a clammy sweat, unnatural in the cold room. "God, Steve, this is my fault," her voice was almost hidden by the wind's noise. Despite two years and dozens of missions together, she would only allow herself to say his name when he couldn't hear. When he was sleeping, after the comms were turned off. When she was alone.

Pulling back the curtains to let in what little light there was, she could see the snow swirling off the ground as the wind chased it, despite the shelter of the forest near the cabin. The sky was dark and low, although it was daytime. She knew the weather here, it was familiar, and she recognised the signs of a blizzard approaching. They would be here for longer than she'd hoped.

Laying a fire to re-warm the room, she pulled on her uniform again, finding string in the kitchen to tie around her to hold the sliced seam closed. She pulled on boots and coat, glad to be active and keep her mind from thinking. The cabin, set out for hunters, had a good supply of wires and traps, and she gathered up an armful, frowning as she stepped outside. The cold took her breath away and sharpened her mind, dulled by pain and worry. Survival was perilous, with their wounds, and limited food, so this wasn't the time for thinking but doing. Taking one last look back at where the Captain still slept, she pulled the door closed and set off.

At home in the forest, she easily saw what others might miss, the tracks of small mammals over the snow. Working quickly, and shivering, she set traps and tied snares over paths until her hands grew too numb to tie the wires. She stood, orienting herself again, marking the location of the traps and the cabin. The noise of the wind was quieter under the shelter of the trees but she knew that the coming storm would stir some of the animals and she hoped that there would be some fresh meat.

Back at the cabin, she threw more wood on the fire and then huddled over it, hands clutched between thighs, until her frost-pale skin started to warm up. She set more snow to warm and then went to stand over the soldier, thinking.

Feeling his forehead again, she came to a decision and gently woke him, calling "Captain Rogers" and shaking his shoulder. When he woke, her worry increased. The usually stoic, powerful Captain, was confused and querulous. His fever was high, and yet the serum in his blood was supposed to prevent him from being ill. Something was very wrong. Finding her bottle, she gave him another mouthful of the super-soldier medicine. He resisted, and she had to hold his head like a child, cajoling him.

"Come on captain, it'll make things feel better. You need to take this, you're sick." She got a mouthful down his throat, followed by a cup of water, then let him slump back. At least with his enhancements, he'd rally quickly, but he was sinking back just as fast.

Forcing herself to move, she headed back to the kitchen to assess their supplies. Tins of stew, meat, potatoes, some tins of fruit. There was a good supply but with no way of knowing how long they'd be stuck, it was hard to know if there was enough. As she tallied up the food she realised how hungry she was. Exhaustion had overwhelmed them both the night before but now her stomach growled. Since she didn't know how long to make the food last, they might as well start with a good meal after 24 hours or more without. She wanted to get something warm into the captain as well, give him strength the old-fashioned way, if the serum wasn't working.

Unwilling to stay in the unheated kitchen for too long, she gathered tins in her arms and went back into the warmth of the main room. The captain was awake now, watching her and looking more in control of himself again. She ignored his glances, concentrating on cutting the tins open with her knife, a part of her regretting the way the edge dulled against the metal, and emptying beef and potatoes into a pan and onto the fire. The food heating, she sat back, her hand going to her wounded side involuntarily as she rubbed the ache.

"You should have some of that medicine too. It wouldn't hurt you, would it? But you said it had a painkiller, and antibiotics?"

"It's for super-soldiers – for you, Sergeant Barnes, Ms Romanov. Not for me. I'm good."

"But it wouldn't hurt you…" He was persistent, insisting that a little would be a good idea.

"There's not enough. What there is, is for you. That's all. So stop, Captain." He frowned at that, sighing. She knew he wasn't the type to give up, he'd bring this up again and again, but she turned her back, poking at the bubbling food, then walking back to the kitchen silently for bowls and spoons.

The food was hot and welcome and it was almost pleasant to sit by the fire and share food. But up close, the reality of the wounds, the pain, and their predicament, made it seem less romantic. The food was gone all too soon and the wind hadn't let up.

"I need to check your wound," she moved to pull the blankets away from him but he resisted.

"It's fine. Check your own." He pulled the blankets up to his chin and spoke with the petulant voice of a child, grinning as he made her laugh. She didn't dare check her wound yet, sure that she'd felt it bleeding as she'd bent and turned setting traps. Time enough for that later. She'd check his later too, she didn't have the fight in her at the moment.

"I'm going to need to… go. Quite urgently." She looked up at him, confused, as he spoke.

"You can't go, there's a blizzard coming and you're inju… oh, go. Right!" She pulled him up, smiling as he blushed. "I am a medic, you know, you don't need to be shy." She winked at him, always more comfortable when she could fill the medical role than when talk got personal.

Helping him on with his socks and boots, now dry and stiff from sitting in front of the fire, she glanced up at the hole in his uniform trousers that she'd cut to reach his wound. The stitched hole didn't look right still. She frowned, hoping he hadn't noticed her glance. She helped him on with his coat, and took his weight as he walked towards the door, feeling the roll of his muscles against her as he stretched, stiff from lying still for so long. Outside, he gasped at the cold as they trudged through the snow together.

"Storm's coming," she said and he nodded.

"We're not going anywhere then. Food? Wood?" His military, practical side was coming through despite his pain.

"We're OK for a bit. But I don't know how long we're going to have to wait." She glanced up at him and saw his brow furrow, as his thoughts followed the same train as hers. Was anyone looking for them? If so who, and when would they be found? And if no one was looking for them, what then.

She propped him against a tree, told him he could do the next bit himself, and went to look at the traps, positioning herself in relation to the cabin and finding the snares she'd set earlier. It was too early to expect much so she was pleased to see a rabbit, no doubt frightened out of its routine by the oncoming storm, caught in one, neck broken. It was plump and fresh and would add a meal, but it wasn't much. Carrying the body, she set off back for the soldier, calling out 'you decent Captain?' with a smile in her voice. He draped his arm around her shoulders again, eyeing the rabbit with puzzlement as they headed back to the cabin.

"We'd better bring more wood in. Once the storm hits, just reaching the woodpile will be impossible. I know the storms here, we'll be stuck inside until it blows over." With her head lowered by the weight of his arm on her neck, she didn't see the look he gave her as she spoke about knowing the storms. To the best of his knowledge, she'd never been to this country before.

They both worked to bring in as much wood as they could. She found a tall pole that the Captain could use as a walking stick, so he could carry a box in one arm. Her wound still prevented her carrying too much so it took many exhausting trips. At first they laughed together at the sight they made, both hobbling and weak, but as their feet dragged through the snow and their arms ached with cold, the smiles left their faces.

"Enough. That'll have to do. We need to stop." She was glad he'd spoken, her face was stiff with cold and her side was throbbing but she'd been determined to match his strength. Foolish. As the medic, she should have spoken up sooner to save his energy.

Before going inside, she took the lid off a water barrel on the porch to allow it to collect snow, and filled every pan they could find, to provide water. One final task before she could sit down, she quickly skinned and gutted the rabbit, her movements mechanically performing a well-known task despite her fingers being numb with cold. Throwing the skin out into the snow and cleaning off her knife she felt his eyes on her.

"They teach you that at medical school?" She could hear doubt in his voice, too many inconsistencies adding up. She'd been so careful for so long, but this whole damn mission had put her in situations she couldn't control. Walking past him, she dropped the rabbit in the sink then rubbed her hands with snow to clean them before turning to face him.

Her concern about how to explain herself was replaced by a concern for the Captain as soon as she turned. The strain of carrying wood, normally no effort for him, had exhausted him. He was lying back on the sofa, face pale and eyes sunken. He hadn't moved to take off his damp coat or boots again, looking as if even breathing was an effort. What had that bullet done?

Her training kicked in again and she drew herself together, bustling about. Taking his wet clothes and shoes off again, wrapping blankets around him, she gave him warm water and another mouthful of medicine. They'd run out sometime, but with no way of knowing how long they had, it might as well be used when it was needed. Throwing more wood on the fire, she tried to keep up a bland chatter to fill the silence.

"So we have plenty of food, as long as your tastes run to meat, potatoes and applesauce, on repeat. Once the storm's gone I'll go out and set more traps. You'll be on your feet again by then I'm sure, and we can think about heading out perhaps. You'll think of something, star spangled man with the plan, what's the plan?" She was aware she was talking nonsense but he made no effort to join the conversation. Eventually her talk ran dry and she had nothing left to fill her hands, the small room taking little effort to maintain. The fire was warm, curtains drawn and candles lit, water melting.

"I'll go cut up that rabbit, see if I can find a way to roast it. I'm no cook at the best of times…"

"You've got a whole host of unexpected skills, you sure cook isn't in there too?" She paused on the way to the kitchen. This was a conversation she'd been afraid of.

"The rabbit will keep, it's not that long since we ate, you should come and rest a bit first." He patted the blankets, a parody of an invitation but she knew it was more a command. She sat down on the edge of the couch and was surprised when he huffed and rolled his eyes, pulling her closer to share warmth and wrapping a blanket around her.

"I'm not going to bite, you know." She relaxed a little, glad of the chance to sit for a moment, the throbbing in her side being harder to ignore the more she worked. She let her head fall back for a second, eyes closed, and let her muscles finally relax.

"So, you fight. You're a medic. Far as I can tell, you're related to Robinson Crusoe with your survival skills…" His voice asked a question although his words didn't.

"Well, he did survive not far from my homeland for twenty eight years," a small smile made it's way to her face despite the tenseness of the current situation.

"You're from Trinidad, explains the accent and the fact that you can't stand the cold. I'll add that to the list of things I didn't know about you." The smile slips from her face as the seriousness returns to his tone.

She kept her eyes shut although her muscles tensed up as if prepared to run. "And the whole sacrifice thing? You'd die… for me? Why?"

She stood up, pushing the blankets away, and went into the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind her. She knew he wouldn't give up, and there was nowhere to run, but she didn't know how she could answer his questions without everything changing. With a sigh, she picked up her knife and started cutting the rabbit up, preferring to do something useful even while her mind churned.

The kitchen was almost dark by the time she finished, and brought the meat in on a plate. The captain was still on the couch, leg raised on a stool, and looked drained.

"I'm not gonna stop you know…" he started, just as the storm hit. The room was instantly darker, and the fire died back for a moment as the wind across the chimney increased. The sound of snow pelting against the windows made her shiver, although the room was warm. Now they were truly trapped.

Putting the plate down, she lit more candles to see off the threatening dark, then tucked spare towels over curtain rails and across the bottom of the door, shutting out as many draughts as she could. The captain watched her, frustrated at his inability to help, hating his weakness. She hated it too, so afraid of what was wrong with him. Glad of the wood pile they'd brought in, she added another thick log to the fire, then went upstairs to the bedroom, dragging down the mattress from the bed and shoving the furniture aside to lay it in front of the fire. She knew her wound was weeping again from the effort but the Captain might heal better with proper rest on a mattress instead of slumped on a couch.

Now there was little else she could do. The storm held them hostage, creating a forced intimacy as they stayed in the one room so as not to waste wood. She sat cross legged on the mattress by the fire, back to the couch, and sorted through the kindling for some twigs to spear the rabbit meat. Now that there was less to do, her mind went back to all the ways she'd failed in this mission, how she'd failed Fury and the Captain, how his wound wasn't healing. She was so caught up in her thoughts that his voice startled her.

"So where did you learn all this? Trapping, survival skills, hunting, fighting… When Fury paired us up I assumed you were just another SHIELD doc but last I saw they didn't teach rabbit trapping and sharpshooting to doctors. You move here after you migrated? And the scars? And what about that whole "I'd died for you' thing. Lovestruck?" She could hear the joke in his voice but knew there was no humour. He was a highly intelligent man and he wasn't going to let go of the secrets he could sense. She hung her head, chin to chest, and sighed.

"Hydra, OK? I learnt it all from Hydra. I am Hydra."

* * *

A/N: Hehe cliffhanger, I couldn't help myself. Tell me what you think?


End file.
